


Curbside

by greerwatson



Category: Forever Knight
Genre: Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23491267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/pseuds/greerwatson
Summary: On their way back to the station, Nick and Schanke make an unexpected stop.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Curbside

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted to FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU on 5 April 2020.

“Isn’t that Nat over there?”

They were driving down Yonge Street, from the crime scene back to the station. In the ordinary way of things, vampire vision should have spotted her long before Schanke could. Privately, Nick was a little embarrassed that he’d been too intent on the traffic. With a quick twist of his head to confirm the sighting, he swerved into the curbside lane, pulled up, and had the driver’s door open. Without checking—a point driven home by a loud honk and a cursing bicycle rider. 

“Geez, Nick! Let _me_ drive next time,” exclaimed Schanke, knowing full well that his chances of ever driving the Caddy again were as close to _nada_ as damn it. 

Without answering, Nick got out and hurried after Natalie. She had ignored the traffic disturbance, but reacted to the sound of hurrying footsteps behind her. When she saw Nick, her first reaction was professional. 

“No, it’s not the case,” he said quickly, “though I should warn you we’ll need the autopsy results sooner rather than later. What are you doing here? ” 

A bit boggled, Natalie said dryly, “I’m on my coffee break, Nick. We _are_ allowed them, you know. My life isn’t non-stop carving corpses, even if you do want your results pronto.” 

Schanke came up at a rather more leisurely pace, said “Hi, Nat,” and brightened at the sight of the Buckstars sign. “Well, while we’re here,” he said suggestively. Ignoring Nick’s expression, he moved past, opened the door, and ushered Natalie in with a broad sweep of his arm. “Don’t suppose _you_ want anything?” he said airily. But he did not look remotely surprised when Nick followed them in. 

“Going to sit?” he asked as they headed for the counter. 

“No, I’ll take it to go,” Natalie replied. To the barista, she said, “I’ll have a mochaccino with non-fat milk and Sweet’n Low. Extra -hot. And also a hazelnut latte, whole milk, with extra whipped cream.” 

Her order brought a puzzled look to Nick’s face; but he said nothing. Coffee had come to Europe so far after his mortal years that he had long since concluded he knew nothing about it, barring a faint few memories culled from blood drunk centuries ago. 

“I’ll have an expresso,” said Schanke. “Black, but extra sugar.” He turned to Natalie. “Either you’re on the craziest diet I ever heard of—and with Myra that’s saying something! —or those can’t both be for you.” 

“Grace,” she said simply. 

“Pulled the coffee run, eh?” he said, and nodded sagely. Propped by an elbow on the counter, he spotted a squad car prowling down the street. “Hey, pardner,” he called to Nick, “we’ll stay and pay,” and, with a nod towards the window, “Why don’t you wait in the Caddy before we get a ticket?”


End file.
